


24 Hours

by weweretold



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 23:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7778350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weweretold/pseuds/weweretold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This just fell out when I was contemplating this tumblr post:</p><p> </p><p>  <i>i dont mean to be dramatic but talking to someone every day for a while is really nice until that day comes when you like dont talk to them for like 24 hours and u really just feel like youre dying</i></p><p> </p><p>Originally appeared on <a href="http://weweretoldandwelistened.tumblr.com/post/148977911080/beyoncebeytwice-i-dont-mean-to-be-dramatic-but">tumblr</a>. Unbeta'd and unbritpicked, so any suggestions for improvement are welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	24 Hours

Right after Sherlock’s fall, Molly took John inside to an empty staff room and offered him a cup of tea, her eyes large with grief and sorrow. She didn’t cry. Neither did John. There were police to talk to and forms to fill out.

Four hours after Sherlock’s fall, Molly called a cab and sent John home. He paused on the pavement, unable to face an empty apartment. On a bench in the park, he called Sherlock’s phone and let it go to voicemail. _This is the phone of Sherlock Holmes. I don’t do voicemail, send me a message._ Beep. And again. And again.

Eight hours after Sherlock’s fall, he and Mrs Hudson sat at the kitchen table in 221B. More tea, and whisky, and silence. They didn’t eat. It took hours before Mrs Hudson’s chin stopped trembling. Her hands never did.

When she’d gone downstairs, later that evening, John threw his glass at the wall, pinched the bridge of his nose, and fetched a dustpan. Sherlock was dead for twelve hours, and John felt completely covered in shards of glass, inside and out.

It was still dark when John woke up after a fitful sleep, fully clothed, on top of his bedsheets. The apartment seemed even emptier than last night. Sixteen hours without Sherlock. Sixteen hours and it felt like he was trapped under a collapsed building.

He sat down in his chair, jaw clenched, unable to eat or speak, waiting for the sun to rise and for Sherlock to burst through the front door, in full knowledge that he wasn’t going to. Sherlock was never coming home. Twenty hours without Sherlock.

Twenty-four hours. _Goodbye, John._ Could he have done anything different? It didn’t matter now. John collapsed on the floor, hugged his knees, and cried.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I appreciate your kudos and comments!


End file.
